


Not What I Had in Mind

by vampireisthenewblack, venis_envy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Filthy, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Playful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, SPFD, Scent Marking, Simultaneous penetration with fingers and dick, Teasing, Touching, leg snuggling, messy fingerfucking after bareback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/pseuds/vampireisthenewblack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/pseuds/venis_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't exactly what Stiles had in mind when he suggested a little light bondage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What I Had in Mind

**Author's Note:**

> After four years of long distance (except for that time vamp crossed the Pacific) bliss, finally we got our collective shit together and made a fic baby. 6+k of pure porn without plot. You're welcome.
> 
> Unbeta'd, except for the time spent in the same doc donkey-laughing and miming post-fuck posture and bickering over technicalities.

Stiles is cold. He's shivering, there's goosebumps around his nipples and down his arms, and he can't do shit about it. "Could you at least get the towel? Dry me off first before you do...whatever you're planning to do."

Derek smirks as he tightens the last knot. "You'll warm up soon enough." 

"I think you've forgotten just how vulnerable I am, being not a werewolf." Stiles shivers again and tests the ropes, pulling gently on each arm. "Get up here, Derek. You tied me to the bed, it's your responsibility to make sure I don't die of hypothermia." He arches up off the mattress, but doesn't get very far, succeeding only in bumping Derek in the chin with his knee. "Oops?"

At least it got Derek moving, even if he does have his wounded-pride look on. He stands on the end of the bed, looming over Stiles while he's spread out with one limb tied to each corner. With one foot on either side of Stiles' hips, he drops to his knees, straddling Stiles' waist. 

Derek flattens his palms on Stiles' stomach, smiling a little wickedly as he drags his hands up to Stiles' chest, catching the lingering drops of water and spreading them over his skin before returning back down the same path.

"Rubbing. Rubbing is good. More of that," Stiles says, his cock twitching with interest despite the fact that his skin is still mostly cold. 

Derek does it again, this time dragging the rough pads of his thumbs over Stiles' nipples before tracing the shape of his collar bone with his fingertips. 

Stiles whimpers, tugging at his restraints again. It drives him crazy when Derek touches him, but Stiles has never _not_ been able to touch back, so this already feels like torture. "Derek, come on."

Derek's fingers slide up the sides of Stiles' neck, tracing tiny circles behind his ears before continuing on to the line of his jaw. 

"Just one hand," Stiles says, because Derek isn't saying anything at all and the bastard still has all of his clothes on and Stiles needs to _touch_ him. 

Derek just tilts his head, eyes trained on his own fingertips as they maddeningly explore Stiles' skin.

"This is so unfair," Stiles says, voice a little shaky as his mind finally registers the weight of Derek on his thighs, against his hard dick. "I hate you so much right now."

Derek arches an eyebrow, smirks, and looks down between his own thighs. "Your dick is telling me otherwise."

Stiles tries to shift his hips, tries to thrust up against Derek, but he's being held down everywhere. "If I had a free hand, I'd slap you with it."

Derek scrapes his blunt fingernails down the ladder of Stiles' ribcage. "With your hand, or your dick?" he asks. 

"Both," Stiles says, trying not to twitch against the tickle of Derek's fingers on his sides. He meant his dick, but whatever.

"Huh," Derek says, furrowing his brows as if he's just thought of something. "That reminds me, I forgot the gag. Why do I have to stuff your mouth full of something just to get you to shut up?"

Stiles' eyes flick down to Derek's crotch, then back up to his face. "If that's what it takes," he says, feeling warmer already. "You know I'm always happy to suck your c—"

It's kind of hard to talk around a mouthful of fingers.

Derek's quick tonight, which isn't unusual, because of the werewolf thing, but even so, Stiles never saw him coming when he slid open the shower curtain and pulled Stiles out from under the hot spray of water. He'd barely had time to grab his towel off the rack—not that it did him any good. A second later, Derek had him pinned—still dripping—to the mattress, one wrist already bound and tied. The other hand followed, then both feet. And he's just been caught between 'c' and 'k', Derek sliding three fingers onto his tongue before he can finish the word.

"Muh wuh uh hab ih myb," Stiles says. 

"Works for me." Derek shifts back on Stiles' thighs, completely severing all dick-to-dick contact—not that Derek's is out anyway, but god.

Stiles considers biting down, just to get Derek to pull his fingers back long enough for Stiles to tell him to lose the damn pants, but his brain has different plans. Stupid Freudian bastard. Instead, Stiles finds himself flattening his tongue against Derek's fingers, sliding it back and forth as much as he can manage, slipping it between them and tasting the salt of Derek's skin.

One corner of Derek's mouth pulls up into a smile. "This is good, Stiles. I can hear myself think."

Stiles figures, yeah, he's probably going to see a lot of that sort of smug arrogance tonight. Though, if he cooperates, maybe Derek will stop adamantly ignoring his dick. With that in mind, he switches from licking to sucking, hollowing his cheeks, letting his eyelids fall shut and tipping his head back as far as he can. He doesn't have to fake the soft moan that starts in his chest and vibrates in his throat.

"Stiles, fuck," Derek grunts, and he leans closer, jeans brushing against Stiles' dick and giving him just a taste of the friction he needs.

Stiles jerks his hips up, searching for more, but Derek pulls away, taking his fingers with him. 

Stiles sucks on the very tips of Derek's fingers as he's drawing them back out, lifts his head off the pillow to chase them with his mouth. As soon as they're out of reach of even his tongue, though, he sees his chance. "Lose the pants," he says. "And the shirt. Just get naked, Derek, holy crap, and _touch my fucking dick already._ "

Derek uses his spit-slick fingers to tip Stiles' chin up, drags one across his bottom lip until Stiles' tongue darts out to taste it, then pushes them back in again. He shifts, straddles Stiles' thigh, rubbing himself through his jeans. "Shh," he says, and grins. 

Stiles drops his head back down and moans around the fingers in his mouth. It's not fair that his cock is getting no attention while Derek's slowly grinding against his thigh. Stiles' dick is leaking onto his stomach in protest, and all he's getting is Derek's fingers fucking into his mouth. "Mmmf," he says, but the only reply Derek offers is a cocked eyebrow. "Mmmf!" 

"Something wrong, Stiles?" Derek asks, and he slowly draws his fingers partway out of Stiles' mouth before sliding them back in. "You look good, almost as good as you do with your lips around my dick." He drops his head and presses a kiss to Stiles' nipple, darts his tongue out to lick and then jerks his head back up. "Warm enough now?" 

Stiles nods, as much as he can with Derek's fingers filling his mouth. "Mmhmm." He flicks his eyes down, hoping that Derek gets the picture and puts his lips back on his nipple. He liked that. 

Derek's mouth stretches into a smile and he slowly lowers his head, tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. "You taste good," he murmurs, before suctioning his mouth over Stiles' nipple, swirling his tongue around it. 

Stiles moans and strains against the ropes binding his hands. Damn Derek for being so fucking good at everything, including knot-tying.

Derek sits up again, pulling his fingers from Stiles' mouth, dragging his hands down his body, using his thumbs to trace the V of Stiles' hips—the area Stiles likes to call his 'come gutters'. Stiles writhes beneath him, groans and whimpers as Derek's fingers come _this close_ to his cock and then slip away again. 

"Oh, God. You're evil," Stiles says. "Not even a little bit evil. I'm talking pure, one-hundred-percent sadistic."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Derek replies. Then, with one more grind against Stiles' thigh, he stands up and flicks the button open on his jeans. 

"That," Stiles says. "Yes. That's good. Take them off, Derek. If I can't touch you, at least let me see you." 

Derek doesn't take them off, doesn't even pull the zipper down. He presses his hand to the line of his dick through his pants. Like everything else tonight, it's just a little tease, enough to drive Stiles batshit crazy. 

He groans in frustration as Derek moves up to stand next to the head of the bed. 

Stiles' hands are starting to tingle. Not because the restraints are too tight, but because, he realizes, he's got them clenched into tight fists. Derek taps on his knuckles until Stiles unclenches them, then leans down and presses the most infuriatingly chaste kiss to Stiles' mouth. Stiles slips his tongue out to catch Derek's lip as he pulls away, then rolls his eyes as he drops his head back down to the pillow.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I suggested bondage," Stiles says. "Is this another one of your 'I'm the Alpha' things? Can't let _me_ tie _you_ up because—" 

Derek pushes two fingers back into Stiles' mouth. "I like you better when you're sucking."

Stiles growls, and this time he does bite down on Derek's fingers, a gesture returned by Derek nipping at his jaw and neck until Stiles lets up and starts sucking on Derek's fingers again. 

"Be nice and I'll return the favor," Derek says. Stiles is pretty sure he doesn't mean the tying up. Probably just the being nice part. But that's okay. 

Stiles tilts his head to give Derek better access to his neck, but Derek seems to be done with that. He's moved on to dragging his lips and tongue along Stiles' collar bone, his shoulder, to his armpit where Derek knows Stiles is extremely ticklish. 

He jerks away as much as he can manage, and tries to protest around the fingers in his mouth, but Derek just pushes them in farther, presses Stiles' tongue down with them before sliding them almost all the way out again. He's seriously fucking Stiles' mouth with his fingers and Stiles can feel the precome leaking down his cock and onto his belly. He thrusts his hips up again, earning nothing but a gentle bite to the sensitive skin of his inner bicep. 

Stiles thinks he's probably had enough of this slow, teasing torture to last him a lifetime, and it would be really awesome if Derek would just put his dick in him now, but he can't say that with Derek's fingers still fucking in and out of his mouth, so he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus his attention on _not_ coming, like this, with Derek nowhere near Stiles' cock.

"Good boy," Derek says, and yeah, that alone almost does Stiles in. 

Derek's got the thumb of his free hand pressed into Stiles' palm, massaging slow, relaxing circles and keeping his hand from balling into a fist again. 

"You can bitch all you want, Stiles, but I know how much you're enjoying this. I know how turned on you are right now. Your arousal is so thick I can taste it in the air."

Stiles would very much like to tell Derek that he's more than welcome to _actually_ taste it if he wants, but it comes out as a muffled whine instead as Derek kisses his way up Stiles' arm. 

Derek scrapes his teeth against Stiles' wrist, the heel of his palm, licks at the sweat collecting there under the press of Derek's thumb. 

"Mmm," Derek says. "I can even taste it here."

He sucks Stiles' fingertip into his mouth, swirls his tongue around it before releasing it again.

"It's almost as good as sucking your dick," Derek says. He licks up the length of Stiles' finger. "No matter where I put my mouth on you, I can taste how turned on you are." Derek inhales deeply, breathing in against Stiles' hand, and then wraps his lips around two of Stiles' fingers. 

Stiles can see the appeal now, Derek's recently discovered finger-sucking thing, because _holy crap_ is that hot. 

Stiles can feel himself sink deeper into the mattress, like the gravity in the room is increasing with the weight of their combined arousal. 

"I'm just gonna keep fucking my fingers into your mouth until your lips are red and swollen and ready for my cock," he says before sucking Stiles' fingers into his mouth again. 

Stiles wants that. He's been so focused on the need for Derek to touch him that the thought of Derek's dick in his mouth right now, while Stiles is tied up and helpless, practically blindsides him, causing his brain to fog over with the intensity of his need. 

He sucks Derek’s fingers more enthusiastically now, desperate to get his lips up to Derek's cock-sucking standards. 

"You're such a good boy, Stiles," Derek says, and he slips another finger into Stiles' mouth, stretching his lips a little tighter. "So fucking hungry for anything I give you. You'd probably let me do whatever I want." Derek flicks his tongue out between Stiles' fingers.

Stiles' brain goes offline at the implication. All he can think about is Derek's tongue between his legs, fucking into him in short, wet strokes. 

When it finally finds the time to reboot, Derek is standing beside him, looking down at Stiles with a level of desire in his gaze that Stiles has never seen before. He's slowly dragging the zipper down on his jeans, and Stiles is such a boneless mess of wanton fucking _need_ that he can't even find the words to beg Derek to hurry up, which was probably Derek's plan in the first place. 

Derek pulls his pants down his hips, barely enough to release his cock, and Stiles licks his lips at the sight of it, hard and leaking precome that Stiles _really_ wants to lick off of him. 

When Stiles does regain his ability to speak, he's reduced to 'please' and 'Derek' and 'god,' and he continues this mantra as Derek climbs up onto the bed on his knees, his cock in his hand. It only stops when Derek drags the tip of it over Stiles' lower lip, painting it with precome.

Stiles' eyes close, and his tongue comes out as he finally gets a taste. He lifts his head, trying to get Derek's cock in his mouth, trying to suck it down like it's the only thing that matters, but Derek pulls back, dragging his cock over Stiles' lower lip again.

"No, no, no," Stiles begs. "Please, let me have it."

"Want me to fill you up, Stiles?" Derek asks, his head tipped to the side, his hand sliding onto the back of Stiles' head, fingers threaded through his hair. There's a tug as Derek holds him back, and it doesn't hurt as long as Stiles' doesn't pull.

"Yes, god yes," Stiles says, tongue darting out to lick every drop of precome off his lips. He needs more, needs it all. "Feed me your dick."

Derek gives him a look that's part Derek's-patented-Alpha-stare and part pure hunger, and he slowly pushes forward, sliding his cock between Stiles' lips. Stiles opens up eagerly, flattening his tongue, wrapping it around the underside as Derek fills his mouth.

"You look so good," Derek murmurs as he lays his palm on Stiles' cheek, turning his head slightly to adjust the angle. He pulls out, slides back in, slow and steady. "I wanna keep you full, Stiles, keep you quiet. You're never like this, never still, never silent. But I can tie you up, stuff your mouth with my fingers or my dick, I can do that." He draws his cock out, all the way, drags the head over Stiles' lips again before pushing back in.

Stiles' dick feels like it's going to explode. Would it kill Derek to put one of his hands to good use? He tries to beg, but with Derek's cock on his tongue it comes out as a strangled moan.

Derek pulls out of Stiles' mouth. "What is it, Stiles? What do you need?"

"Oh my god," Stiles moans. "Touch my dick, please." He tries to thrust upward, but he's fucking air and it's not helping, not at all.

Derek slides back off of the bed, away from Stiles, and _away_ is definitely not what he wants. 

Stiles yanks on his restraints again, frustration getting the better of him as Derek slowly strokes his own cock and just _watches_ Stiles squirm. The prick must have been a Boy Scout at some point in his childhood to be able to tie knots so efficiently. Stiles takes a moment to visualize that, Derek in a uniform rubbing sticks together in the woods. He almost snorts with laughter. He'll have to tease him about that later, when he's not pissed off and horny to the point of permanent physical damage.

"You worry too much," says Derek, and finally, _finally_ , he's slipping his pants off his hips, pushing them all the way down and kicking them to the side. "Do you think I'm not gonna take care of you?"

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, and tamps down the urge to snap at Derek about how completely neglected his poor, lonely dick has been during this little endeavor. He's in no position to complain. Derek will only drag it out longer if he does. So he breathes, closes his eyes, and he shakes his head. "No," he whispers.

"Good." The bed dips as Derek climbs on between Stiles' spread legs. Stiles opens his eyes in time to see Derek lean over and place a kiss on the inside of Stiles' knee. It tickles and makes his tummy twist inside, makes his dick leak precome onto his stomach because he can see where Derek's going with this as he moves up just a little and drags his tongue over the soft skin of Stiles' inner thigh.

Derek's hands slide up and hold Stiles by the hips, fingers pressing firmly into the cheeks of his ass, thumbs tracing the edge of the muscles that frame Stiles' cock. He noses at Stiles' balls, licks into the crease of his thigh, and compensates when Stiles involuntarily thrusts upward. 

"Fuck," Stiles gasps, because Derek's so close, so damn close to his cock and he needs it, needs Derek to touch it, lick it, suck it right down his throat. He wants to beg, but he holds back, because he trusts Derek, he does, and he doesn't want to give Derek any excuse to back off. Instead, he stares up at the ceiling and pants as Derek noses at his balls again before dragging his tongue up the inside of his other thigh.

Derek shifts one hand, and Stiles hopes that he's about to get a finger up his ass, hopes that Derek's going to stretch him open while he blows him, and he tugs at the ropes wrapped around his ankles in an effort to spread his legs a little more. All Derek does, though, is suck one of Stiles' balls into his mouth and Stiles wants to scream, wants to call Derek a fuckdamn tease and demand he suck his dick right the fuck now.

Instead, he moans and writhes, jerking at his bonds, and tells himself that he can wait, Derek's not going to leave him like this, harder than he's ever been in his life. Eventually he is going to get off, even if it's two seconds after Derek sucks him into his mouth. 

Then Derek moans, and the vibrations are too much on Stiles' tight, full balls, far too much. He jerks his head down, about to speak, to tell Derek to get the fuck on with it, but he stops with the words still on his tongue because Derek's got a hand behind him, and Stiles' can't see fuck all, but he knows that Derek's got at least two of his own fingers shoved up his ass.

"Guh," is all he manages to get out.

Derek's eyes flick up, and he lifts his head. His eyes are glazed, the lids heavy, and his lips are red and wet and swollen. He presses a kiss to the very base of Stiles' cock, darting his tongue out to touch, and then he pulls his fingers out of his ass and puts his hand on Stiles' thigh.

"When did you—?" Stiles begins, because Derek's fingers are slick with lube, and Stiles never saw Derek move to get it. "Holy crap."

"You were in the shower," Derek says, walking up on his knees, getting closer. He lifts one leg, puts his knee back down on the mattress on the outside of Stiles' hip. He lifts the other leg, puts his foot down by Stiles' waist, holding himself above Stiles' hips. One hand comes down in the center of Stiles' chest, just to steady himself. All his weight is taken by his legs and Stiles wishes that his hands were free so he could run his fingers over Derek's thighs, feel the tight muscle under the skin.

"If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just—oh holy fuck." Stiles' eyes roll back in his head when Derek takes his sensation-deprived cock in slick fingers and lines it up. And it's just going to get worse, because this almost never happens, Derek almost _never_ wants to be the one getting fucked and Stiles is pretty much okay with that, but when it does happen, Derek's always so fucking tight, and he's been teasing Stiles all night. "Not gonna fucking last," he says, the words spilling out all strung together. "And I blame you, you take the blame, the blame is—"

Derek presses two fingers against Stiles' lips. "Shh," he says, and bites his lower lip. He pushes down on Stiles' cock, pushes his fingers past Stiles' lips, and as Stiles feels that tight heat surround him. Derek's forehead tenses, his mouth falls open, and he lets out a soft, breathy moan.

Stiles can't tear his eyes away from Derek's face, wants to take in all of it because it's so rare that Derek's guard comes down like that. Every inch wrecks Derek just a little more, until the cheeks of his ass meet Stiles' hips, and then, slowly, the control comes back to him, his forehead smooths out, and the intense stare returns. A moment later, he cocks one eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk.

Stiles realizes that he's staring, open-mouthed, Derek's fingers still sitting on his tongue. He may be in shock, and he hopes at least it might help to hold off his orgasm a bit.

Stiles closes his lips around Derek's fingers, sucks hard, lifting his head off the pillow to take them as deep as he can, like he's desperate for them, for anything at all to distract him from the tight heat of Derek surrounding his cock. 

"See?" says Derek, as he presses down farther, swirls his hips in a little move that would have Stiles recoiling involuntarily if he weren't tied down. "I know how to take care of you, Stiles."

He isn't going to last, but _god_ , it feels so fucking good. Derek starts to move, rises up before sinking down again, slow, sinuous motions that cause the muscles in his thighs to ripple as he grinds down on Stiles with intent. Stiles drops his head back down, squeezes his eyes shut, forgets his own fucking _name_.

He can feel every inch of himself buried in Derek, deep and tight, squeezing his dick from base to tip. It's almost too much, too much sensation after what seemed like hours without, and Stiles isn't sure if he's ever actually been this deep inside of Derek before, but the small fraction of his mind that still seems to be functioning coherently tells him that isn't true. He knows he has been, but this just feels like so much more, so much more intense, and maybe it's because he doesn't have his hands to split his attention. His entire focus is narrowed down to the feeling of Derek riding his cock, Harder now, faster, and Stiles tries to drag his imagination back to Derek in a Boy Scout uniform just to distract him a little bit, to hold off a little longer. 

Derek is speaking again, and Stiles can't even focus on what he's saying, too wrapped up in the feel of it all to hear anything beyond his own groans of pleasure and the sound of skin slapping together. 

He drags his eyes open, looks up at Derek's face. It's dangerous, he knows. He can already feel the heat coiling at the base of the spine, but he needs to see him, has to see if Derek is enjoying this half as much as he is. 

Derek's eyes are closed, jaw slack, and he's fucking into his own fist with the same abandon he fucks down onto Stiles' cock. 

Stiles jerks his hips, thrusts up into Derek, and he's torn between wanting to watch Derek's face, and wanting to keep his eyes on Derek's dick as it leaks onto Stiles' stomach. 

"I should've turned around the other way," Derek says, voice rough, and Stiles can tell that, yes, he _is_ enjoying this very much. "You could've watched your dick slide into me, and I could've fucked your ass with my fingers while I rode your cock." Derek tilts his head to the side, sweeps his thumb across Stiles' chin, smearing saliva. "This is good, too, though," he says. "I just want to keep you full, fill you up everywhere."

He slips his fingers out of Stiles' mouth, outlines the shape of his lips with slick fingertips before pushing them in again. "You're just so easy like this. So willing."

Stiles wants to agree with that, wants to tell Derek that he's _always_ willing when it comes to him, but he just sucks Derek's fingers eagerly instead, thrusts up into him as hard as he can. Afterward, he figures, he can tell Derek he wants that next time, has always wanted it, because who doesn't fantasize about being filled everywhere all at once, and filling someone else at the same time? He groans as his eyes roll back, and he arches up to meet Derek as he grinds down on Stiles' cock. 

He's too close, far too close, but Derek looks almost there. He's just rocking now, gasping, and his hand stutters as it pulls on his dick. When Stiles stops sucking, Derek's fingers slither from his mouth, dragging spit down over his chin, coming to rest palm flat on his chest. "Fucking come," Stiles rasps, throat sore like he's been yelling. "Come on me, Derek. Come all over me."

Derek's eyes open wide and he grinds down hard. He grunts as the first spurt paints a stripe up Stiles' chest, then doubles over as his insides clamp down in rhythmic pulses.

"Fuck," Stiles spits as he's squeezed tight. "Fuck, yeah, Derek, fuck yeah." He jerks his hips up, desperate to come while Derek's still shaking, throbbing, but it's not enough. "Untie me," he demands, tugging at the ropes. "Untie me so I can fuck you into the goddamn mattress, Derek."

Still quivering, Derek lifts his head. There's a smirk on his lips, even though his eyes are glazed over and his chest is still heaving. A final dribble of come hits Stiles' stomach, and Derek straightens, then rises up, almost all the way off Stiles' cock, and holds himself there.

"Oh my god, Derek, I swear to god if you don't—"

Derek drops down, driving Stiles' cock deep.

Stiles arches up off the bed, straining against the ropes, fingers itching to dig into Derek's hips, to hold him there while he fucks up into him. Derek presses down on his shoulders, pinning him to the mattress, using his arms as leverage to ride Stiles' cock hard and fast.

It's just what Stiles needs. He cries out as he starts to come, thrashing against the ropes as Derek keeps riding him, milking him until Stiles' vision whites out and he squirms because it's too much, too sensitive. With Stiles still inside him, Derek leans forward, his weight pressing down on Stiles' chest, hand smearing his own come.

It's Derek's subtle way of scent-marking Stiles, making sure it'll linger there on his skin just a little longer, and Stiles doesn't give a shit. He lies there, barely able to breathe under Derek's weight, eyes closed and perfectly content. 

He only opens them again when he feels the rope loosen on his wrist, Derek's breath against his cheek. Stiles doesn't wait for him to finish untying it properly before he's pulling his hand free, twisting and tugging and probably leaving marks on his wrist, but he doesn't care. His whole body is in sensory overload and he still just wants to _touch_.

He presses his hand to Derek's cheek, rasp of stubble against his palm and Stiles thinks, in this state, in his touch-deprived sensitivity, he can feel every one of the hairs individually as they prickle against his skin. 

He turns his face the tiny bit that it takes for his mouth to meet Derek's, open and filthy, tongues slicking together as Derek works to loosen the knot on his other wrist. 

When both hands are free, Stiles presses his fingers into Derek's shoulders, slides his hands down his biceps and back up again as he sucks Derek's bottom lip between his own, flicks his tongue out against the softness of it. It's gentle and languid, the opposite of everything they've just done. 

Derek huffs out a broken, shaky breath against Stiles' wet mouth, then sits up, slowly pulls off of Stiles' dick with a tiny, barely noticeable wince. 

Stiles' cock is completely spent, laying soft against his thigh as Derek turns to untie the ropes around Stiles' ankles, and Stiles is sure that if he didn't just have the most intense orgasm of his life, he'd be able to get it up again already just from that sight alone. Derek is straddling one leg, fingers working the knot loose, and Stiles can see his own come dripping down Derek's inner thigh. 

Fuck it, he thinks. His hands still feel so deprived of all sensation for all he's used to using them during normal sex with Derek, and now that they're free again, he's like a starving hobo with a Big Mac. Stiles doesn't want to deny them the sense of touch anymore. Why should he?

He doesn't even wait until Derek's untied his other ankle before he sits up, fingers pressed into Derek's thighs, thumbs spreading him open so he can see his own come leaking out of Derek's ass.

Derek doesn't ask what he's doing, doesn't try to fight it as Stiles slides two fingers into his wet, used hole. It's still tight, despite the good, hard fuck, and Stiles' mouth drops open in silent awe as Derek starts to rock back onto his fingers. 

Stiles holds Derek by the hip, drives his fingers in deeper, feeling the remnants of himself inside. He twists his wrist, watches as come dribbles out onto his fingers, and then pushes them back in again. His mind is still hazy and he can't quite find the words to say exactly how hot this is. Stiles has been fucked speechless, and that _never_ happens. "Derek?" he says, more just to check that his brain is still connected to his vocal cords than anything else.

Derek grunts and looks back over his shoulder. His tongue slips out and wets his lower lip, then he bites down on it and writhes back onto Stiles' hand.

"Ah, fuck. Okay," Stiles says, and now that both his ankles are free, he gets up onto his knees, slides one hand up Derek's back, gets a good grip on his shoulder and pulls back on him as he pumps his fingers into Derek's slippery hole.

There's something so depraved about what he's doing, and it gives him a rush. He bets no one else in the world has ever seen Derek so debauched, so messy, so eager. That Derek trusts him with this, seeing him like this, filled up with come, taint shiny and slick with it, makes something inside Stiles twist helplessly.

It excites him all over again, and his exhausted cock gives a twitch. He's oversensitive, but he scooches up behind Derek so he can press against the back of his thigh as he slips another finger inside him.

"Fuck," Derek says, the word drawn out into a moan. He turns his head the other way, rubs his lips over Stiles' hand on his shoulder, tongue slipping out to run the length of Stiles' middle finger. Derek's eyes are closed, and he has the look of a cat looking to be petted. "Your fingers," he mumbles. "They were made for fucking." Then he pries Stiles' finger off his shoulder with his lips and sucks it into his mouth.

Stiles nearly chokes as his cock becomes almost immediately hard again. There are benefits to being a teenager, but Stiles isn't sure this is really a good thing, especially considering he's rather inclined to put his dick back inside Derek right now.

He thrusts against Derek's thigh and watches, enthralled, as Derek blows his finger. "That's, holy shit, so fucking hot, I see why you like it."

Derek opens his eyes and smirks around the finger between his lips, and then he lets it slip out, slick with spit. He drops his head out of sight and reaches behind him, grabbing Stiles by the wrist and drawing his fingers out of his ass. Then he twitches his hips so that Stiles' cock fits into the space between his cheeks.

That's a hint, if Stiles ever saw one. "Yeah?" he says. "Want me to fuck you again, Derek?"

Derek makes a noise that's halfway between a hum and a moan, and pushes back.

It's about as close as Derek has ever gotten to actually asking Stiles to fuck him. He seems so open and honest right now, without having to say anything at all. 

Stiles grabs Derek by the hips and pushes back in, his own come slick around him in the tightness of Derek's body. Stiles holds there, still, steady, head tipped back and eyes closed. His dick is still so sensitive, but it's not uncomfortable, just intense. 

He drops his gaze back down to Derek, on his hands and knees in front of him, a sheen of sweat on his back from their previous exertion, fingers twisting into the sheets, the muscles of his arms and shoulders straining—to keep himself up, or to keep from pushing back onto Stiles' cock, he can't really tell. 

Stiles draws back slowly, dragging a choked breath from Derek, watching as his dick slides out, almost to the head. He stops there, savoring the feel of Derek's rim clenched tight around him, keeping him in. Stiles slides his hand up Derek's back to the tattoo between his shoulder blades, traces the edge with his fingertip, then slams into him, drawing a breathless cry from Derek's lips. 

Stiles loves to see this part of Derek, the part of him that gives over entirely to pleasure and need, strips away his careful control and takes him apart piece by piece. 

He loops an arm around Derek's tight stomach, grips onto a shoulder with his other hand, and thrusts back into him, harder, faster, again and again until it's almost too much.

Werewolf refractory time must be just as good as a teenager's, Stiles thinks, because Derek's dick is hard again, too, slapping against Stiles' forearm with every move, leaving a sticky mess of precome, or post-jizz, or whatever the hell it's called the second time around.

"God, Stiles. Fuck," Derek breathes, and Stiles has actually never heard him so completely wrecked before. He files that thought away for later. Stiles pulls his dick out with a wet slide, cock glistening with his come from before. He slips two fingers back into Derek, pumps them once, twice, as Derek shoves himself back and groans. 

"More," he says, and Stiles can really only think of one way to comply.

He tugs gently at Derek's rim, hooking his fingers, then pushes his cock back in with them. 

Derek hisses, drops his shoulders to the mattress and folds his arms to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. 

Stiles moves slow, careful, watching every tiny movement of Derek's for signs that he might be hurting him. There's nothing but pleasure in the sounds Derek is making, though, the ragged breaths and desperate moans as he starts to rock back against Stiles again. 

Stiles fucks him with his fingers and his cock at once, stretching him, filling him up, reveling in the increased tightness the addition of his fingers has created. 

It should be harder for him to come this time, should take him longer to get off after the orgasm he's just had. But each breathy moan from Derek, every groan of pleasure, vibrates through his body, straight to Stiles' dick, causes that heat to coil tighter inside him. 

He reaches his free hand under and wraps a fist around Derek's dick, pulling and pushing and rocking them together until Derek stiffens, clamping down hard on Stiles' fingers and cock as he starts to come, clawing at the sheets with the force of it.

He clenches around Stiles until Stiles pulls his fingers out, uses both hands to still Derek's hips. He feels so good inside, warm and close and slick. Stiles pulls out, slams back in, savors Derek's soft moan, but he's flat on his face now, arms flung out to the sides, fingers picking weakly at the sheet. He's done, and Stiles is almost there. Just another couple of thrusts, quick and jerky, and the tension coiled in his belly snaps, and he fills Derek all over again, hot and thick and pulsing.

Stiles pulls out slow, exhausted and breathless and more satisfied than he's probably ever been in his life. He pats the mattress twice, tapping out like a wrestler before flopping back down onto the pillows. Derek slithers to his stomach, head still at the foot of the bed, both of them boneless and sated. Stiles shifts his leg, just enough, so his calf presses against Derek's hip, not yet willing to give up contact. Derek lifts a hand and reaches over, his fingertips grazing the back of Stiles' knee.

Within minutes, Stiles hears a soft snore coming from the end of the bed. He smiles to himself and closes his eyes, the sound of Derek's breathing lulling him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

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